Ditching The Dream (Dream Series) (44 page)

“Jim doesn’t know.”

“I’ll come home tomorrow,” I declared.

“Don’t you dare! I would never forgive myself. I’ll call Kimmy.” I was always envious of Jess’s relationship with her older sister. Kimmy was only two years older than Jess and they were really close, unlike Suzie and me. “So, dinner with Greg tonight. It’s almost eight your time. What are you going to tell him?”

I knew this tactic of Jess’s. Jump into someone else’s problem. And yes, I had a problem right now, but…

“You’re calling your doctor tomorrow, right?”

“Cross my heart and hope to –”

“Don’t say it!” I interrupted. Tears sprung to my eyes. She couldn’t say it. If she said it… I took a couple of quick breaths. “You’ll be good. We’ll find out and you’ll be good.”

“Fine. Scout’s honor. So, Greg. What are you going to tell him?”

Tonight just got a hundred percent more challenging.

Glancing at the clock, I noted that I had three more minutes until eight. I was actually surprised that the doorman hadn’t called telling me that Greg was in the lobby. Greg liked to be early.
“If you’re on time, you’re late,”
he used to say.

“I don’t know. I’ll be home soon, J, either way. I love you, babe.”

“I love you, too. Aren’t we a pair?” She sniffled.

I ended the call just as the building intercom rang. I had Dominic send Greg up. I needed another drink. I was a jumbled mess.

I finished pouring the Cosmo just as he knocked quietly at the door.

Game time,
I thought. I took a sip, then went to answer the door. Moments later, silently, he was standing in my living room. He’d shaved since last night, but he still seemed thinner than a few weeks ago. Maybe he was always thin, and I’d just gotten used to Jack and Kevin’s bodies? He was dressed in his khaki twill pants, blue button down, and a sport coat — his standard uniform.

He stood just gawking at me. “I can’t get used to your short hair.”

“Can I get you a drink?” I asked.

“Um, sure. What’ve you got?”

“Gin, vodka, rum, scotch, wine,” I rambled.

“Wow, you’ve really committed to this bartending gig, huh?” His attempt at humor was not lost. He seldom joked about things. I’d known him long enough that when he tried to joke around, it was because he was as nervous as hell.

I shrugged. “I was also the bartender at Book Club,” I said.

“Was? Does that mean you’re not coming back?” he was white as a ghost. I thought he might pass out.

“Take a seat,” I said, turning to my mini-bar. I poured him a vodka on the rocks, grabbed my martini and stood back, my rear still too tender to sit.

“Uh-oh. You’re serving the hard stuff. This isn’t good, is it?” More humor? Or truth?

I took a deep breath and simply stated the truth. “I don’t know.”

He took a swig and sat there holding the glass in both hands staring at it. Like inside that glass he’d find the straight forward answer he wanted.

“We have a lot to cover, Greg. I’ve learned a lot about myself being here. More than I expected to.” I felt the vodka starting to loosen my lips. “Am I happy with my life right now? For the most part, yes. But I also feel like shit for what I’m putting you through. I’m analyzing my whole life, twenty-five years of it at least, daily.”

“When did you start swearing?”

I sighed. He was avoiding the big point by focusing on syntax. Awesome. “Do you have an idea of where you want to go to dinner?”

D
inner with your husband should be a comfortable, familiar thing. This dinner was anything but, my sore ass aside. I watched Greg push food around his plate, as did I. Conversation was stilted and awkward. We were sitting elbow to elbow at a four-top rather than across from each other, but we might as well have been sitting at two different tables.

We talked about the weather in both New York and Napa.

We talked about Phoebe’s trip up here. Greg thinks she’s decided NYU is more her speed.

We talked about Jess and Jim and their winery. I had to be careful to not mention Jess’s possible –
Shit! –
condition, since Jim didn’t know. I nearly needed surgery from biting my tongue, so I changed topics. Besides, if I thought about my best friend since third grade and… I would just start crying right then and there.

I asked about his parents. His father’s health was still failing and his mother was starting to slip, too.

I guess it was easier to talk about us over a phone line.

In many ways this felt like a dinner back at home after the kids had left, only something was missing… I just couldn’t quite place my finger on it. But one thing did stay the same. He didn’t ask about me.

I asked Greg about his work, which he avoided like always. It was sad, really. Kevin spoke freely and animatedly about his job from the get-go. Once Jack and I laid all the cards on the table, he also seemed to enjoy talking about his work.

“You don’t want to hear about my boring job,” Greg said dismissively.

“I do!” I insisted.

Greg was quiet for the next couple of moments, studying my face, looking for my bluff. “Mother and Father always insisted that talking about work was not for the family,” he said.

“Well, I’m asking and I want to know.”

For the next twenty-five minutes, Greg told me about his work. At the start he was reserved, but as time went on he grew more spirited. I was sad that none of this sounded familiar.

By the time dessert arrived, and several glasses of wine later, Greg still hadn’t asked much about me. I should have been really put off, but this was a whole new world for us, so I started talking about my job and new friends.

“So, your friend Kevin. Phoebe said he was really cute. Said that you seemed pretty close?”

“I don’t know why she’d say that.” My mind started racing. Had she seen us at some point that would allude to us being more than neighbors? We’d been careful. I was sure of it. Did she figure out about my midnight slipping out up to the rooftop?

“Just the way he talked about you to Phoebe. She said if she didn’t know any better that Kevin had a crush on you.”

Shit!
Do I lay the cards on the table? Maybe it was safer in public. But it was definitely a private conversation. And we weren’t anything but friends anymore.

“I think he’s very sweet.”
Chicken shit!
I scolded myself.

“What about the guy from the bar? What’s the story there?” he pressed.

“Greg, is this a conversation you want to have here?”

Greg searched my eyes and very straight forwardly, he said, “Bets, I need you. Don’t you want me at all?”

“Greg, it’s not that eas –”

Greg didn’t let me finish. He leaned across the table and pressed his lips against mine. There wasn’t any heat. He didn’t press for more. It was a chaste kiss. An
I-love-you-but-I’m-not-in-love-with-you
kiss. He was begging without any substance.

He pulled back and looked at me, studying my face for a clue. I didn’t have any clues, obvious or otherwise. To be honest, I was so confused. He kissed me. It felt dead. Why? Shouldn’t I feel
something
?

“Can we go to your apartment? We need to talk,” he asked.

For some reason I didn’t want him at my apartment again.

“Your hotel is closer,” I offered.

We walked the four blocks to his hotel more or less in silence. I was anxious. Anxious because I wasn’t the same person who left Napa. Anxious because I was so very different from the woman Greg married. Anxious because I wasn’t sure where we stood, or where I wanted us to stand. I had learned so much about myself in the past few weeks. I had a good idea of what I needed in my life. But I had no idea if what I needed was possible with Greg. We were supposed to be together for richer and for poorer and so on until death do us part. Is our marriage dead?

Standing in his hotel room, I watched him go straight to the remote for the TV.

“Please don’t,” I stopped him. “I really don’t like the background noise of the TV.”

“Oh,” he said, appearing very unsettled as his eyes shifted from me to the remote and the TV then back to me. He set the remote down and sat on the bed, rubbing his hands on his slacks. He was clearly nervous.

“Are you nervous?” I asked.

He nodded and cleared his throat. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He closed his mouth and looked around.

I didn’t know what to do. I wanted him to relax. We needed to talk. Maybe the best way to start this whole thing was to show him how I had changed.

I knelt before him and glanced up to see his reaction. He seemed know where I was headed and seemed appalled.

“What are you doing? Get up off your knees,” he croaked.

I only gave him a crooked smile. I reached up and undid his belt buckle.

“Elizabeth, what are you doing?”

I continued with unbuttoning his pants and sliding down the zipper. “I’m going to relax you a bit,” I said with a wink. I could feel his manhood start to grow in anticipation.

“But this won’t –” He stopped talking when I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock and took at least half of him into my mouth.

“Shit!”
he hissed. His head dropped back and I went to work. He quickly grew to full size and I hoped it was due to my new learned skill.

And in true Greg fashion, things took only moments. He found his release. Dropping back, he stifled a groan. I don’t think it even fully registered with him that I drank up every drop.

I licked him clean then flopped onto the bed next to him with a satisfied grin spread on my face. I thought about how he tasted different from Jack.

“What in the hell was that?” he asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“I was trying to relax you. Didn’t you like it? And don’t think of lying. I know the answer,” I shot back.

“Who are you? The Elizabeth I’ve known and been married to for the past twenty-four years would never talk the way you are talking. Nor do what you just did.”

“I didn’t know who I was before I left, Greg! That’s what this whole thing is about. Finding out who I am!”

“What? A whore?” he asked.

“Fuck you!” I spat back, rolling off the bed. It felt good to swear. I never used the eff-bomb before with Greg. Hell, before I came here, I barely ever said shit, now it was a regular word in my vocabulary.

“So, what? You just give blow jobs to anyone who needs to
relax
? Is the restaurant some cover?” he continued. “When I said you should sow your wild oats, I didn’t expect you to –”

“You know what? Go to hell!”

I went over to his mini-bar and contemplated making him pay for each mini-bottle. I grabbed the mini-bottle of Beefeaters Gin, feeling that it was an appropriate choice for the moment. Finding a can of tonic water, I finished pouring myself a drink.

“I’m sorry,” he said, resting his hands on my shoulders. I shrugged his hands off of me. “I’m just surprised by what happened,” he whispered. “You’ve never done that in the past, especially the,” he paused to gulp. “Especially the end bit.”

I smirked to myself satisfied, and finished preparing my drink.

“We just never did the whole fellatio and cunnilingus bit before. I thought you’d find it unseemly.”

“There’s a lot I never knew I’d like,” I replied, sipping my drink. Damn thing needed ice and a wedge of lime, but it would do. “Did your girlfriends before me do that?” I asked.

“Well, sure, but –”

“So, why did we never…” It hurt that he’d treated me like some special case.

“Well, I kind of knew that I wanted to marry you from our very first date. And I was raised that the mother of your children should be treated reverently and with care.”

“Did you go down on your previous girlfriends?”

He didn’t answer. He just stood there doing the mental math, trying to calculate the odds of his response.

“I’m not dropping the question, so you’d best answer it,” I pressed.

He licked his lips, his eyes darting everywhere. I handed him my gin and tonic, which he took and drank a big gulp.

“I thought so,” I said, not needing a response. His reaction spoke volumes. “So why not me? All I got were Friday night quickies. I don’t get it, Greg. You’ve kept to yourself about so much. You’ve never talked much yourself. Tonight was the most I’ve heard out of you regarding your job. I never really knew what you did all day. It’s pretty interesting, too. I’m not sure that it’s so interesting I couldn’t leave it for an hour over din-” It dawned on me. He didn’t have his smart phone out during dinner. No files with him at the table. That’s what was missing. “Thank you,” I said.

“For what?” he asked.

“For not bringing your phone or a file to the dinner table,” I said.

“Okay,” he shrugged.

“You didn’t notice that you always have something work related next to you at the table, and that it always interrupts dinner, and you paid more attention to work than me? Did you never realize that?”

He sat down and thought a moment. “No, I guess I hadn’t noticed that. I’m sorry.” He looked up at me with sad eyes.